


Clash of Wills

by Not_So_Dark_One



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Daenerys Targaryen, Bisexual Margaery Tyrell, Cousin Incest, Daenerys Targaryen Deserves Better, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Daenerys Targaryen Lives, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Game of Thrones Alternate Season 07, Game of Thrones Alternate Season 08, Jon Snow Deserves Better, Jon Snow is King in the North, Margaery Tyrell Lives, Married Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Minor Grey Worm/Missandei, Minor Meera Reed/Bran Stark, Missandei Deserves Better (ASoIaF), Missandei Lives (ASoIaF), NO Stark-Targaryen Wars, POV Margaery Tyrell, POV Sansa Stark, Peace for our time, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pro-Daenerys, Pro-Jon, Pro-Margaery, Pro-Sansa, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, R Plus L Equals J, Rhaego Lives (ASoIaF), Sansa Stark Deserves Better, everybody deserves better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:22:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26011825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_So_Dark_One/pseuds/Not_So_Dark_One
Summary: Lady Margaery Tyrell, wife of three kings and the Dragon Queen's lover, is sent to Harrenhal to negotiate with Sansa Stark, the wife of King Jon Snow of the North. As those two former friends reunite, the realm waits with stilled breath.As those two unlikely power couples emerge, the whole continent watches and wonders:Will Westeros slide into another bloody war or will two women manage to forge peace?Read to find out!(Prompted by the author's need to write a Margaery/Daenerys ship and try his luck in Jonsa shipping. I really hope I have done both ships justice.No good character vilifying. Just the total assholes of the show (Baelish, Cersei, Euron and maybe Varys) and I will barely mention them.)
Relationships: Daenerys Targaryen/Margaery Tyrell, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark & Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 17
Kudos: 81





	1. The Rose and the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> The relationship tags are written in order of appearance. Each chapter will focus on one of these relationships.
> 
> Chapter 1 - POV Margaery and focuses on Dany's conquest and their relationship's beginning;  
> Chapter 2 - POV Sansa and focuses on Jon and Sansa reclaiming the North and their relationship, Stark reunions and the birth of a new Stark (OC - Lyanna Stark, Sansa and Jon's daughter). The first two chapters happen almost concurrently.  
> Chapter 3 - POV Sansa and POV Margaery. Focuses on the negotiations and peace settlement as well as reunion of the two old friends.

There are some moments in life, which matter infinitely more than the rest. The day you are born and the day you die, for one thing. The day you get married, have children and so on. Special days, on which you were supposed to die. 

Yes, that last one in particular.

Margaery Tyrell had been married to three kings, something she believed no woman has ever done before. After all, don't we live in man's world, where women are mere broodmares, destined for marriage alliances and furthering family lines? It is what the Faith teaches you, if you have the wits the understand its teachings. Nevertheless, in Margaery's case it was the husbands that changed. 

Renly.

Joffrey.

Tommen. Sweet Tommen, who jumped off a window as soon as he saw the monstrosity his deranged mother had accomplished. Death in wildfire for all who had opposed her ascent to power.

And that is all she wanted. Power. And why? 

If you would do dreadful things to obtain power, shouldn't you have some goal, some desire beyond simple power? She hadn't. Her craving for power was based merely on her envy for being denied power on account of her gender. Power for power's sake and nothing else. An empty reason, in Margaery's not so humble opinion. 

Yes, she craved to be queen too, once upon a time. She had a reason though. From the times she was a young girl, she wanted to help people, to make their lives better. Margaery hated seeing people begging on the streets. Some might say that she was simply a gardener, who hated seeing weevils in her garden. Perhaps. Yet if she were to improve the lives of millions, then what did it matter? 

Queen, whose purpose was to help people. That was what she wanted. Simple, yet the queen mother couldn't grasp such complicated notions. She could not understand that the Tyrells did not have to be her rivals, merely people she had to share power with. That is all. The woman couldn't also figure out that nobody allowed women to have power just like that.

They had to take it.

Just like the new queen: Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Breaker of Chains, Stormborn, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons. 

So many titles. 

When she first heard the lovely Naathi girl list them all like some sermon from the Seven Pointed Star, she figured the new queen was arrogant. How not? She was the first woman in history to have forced the Dothraki to submit to her. All of them, all of these destroyers of countless now nameless civilizations. Not to mention the dragons.

The dragons could not go without saying. 

Three dragons - one as black as night, one as green as grass and one as white as marble. The living embodiments of her power, a power her house used to possess more than a hundred years ago. Theirs, until they lost it. 

She would have thought the Unburnt part to have been just an idle boast, until the new queen shoved her hand in the lit brazier in front of the whole court.

Power. 

Yes, it all amounted to power in the end. There was nothing that could stand in the way of simple, pure power. Even the power of gold could be turned impotent in the face of true power.

Margaery had barely escaped from the burning sept. Sadly alone. Loras, father and countless more all died in Cersei's inferno. She herself fled the city only by the grace of the kindness of the people, who gave her a horse and piled on top of Cersei's tugs, while the now former queen fled south, riding as fast as possible towards Highgarden, all the while crying for her slaughtered family and all those poor, ignorant souls who drowned in Cersei's fiery hate.

Her brother, sweet Willas, cried for the dead, while her grandmother plotted revenge. Upon going to Sunspear, she found the way.

Fire and blood.

Embroiled in their petty civil wars, the Lannisters and the Baratheons had forgotten about the Targaryens - the last of them had hatched dragons and forged armies out of thin air and was now sailing west to claim her father's throne for her own. Without even lifting a finger, this dragon queen had secured two kingdoms and she had the vile Cersei to thank, the newest ass to perch itself atop the Iron Throne - the greatest symbol of power on the continent that attracted all like moths to a flame.

Yet fire cannot hurt a dragon. Perhaps that is why the Targaryens kept it for 300 years, while the Baratheons and Lannisters could barely keep to it. But no, that is unfair. Robert Baratheon managed to hold it for 17 years, even if he never truly ruled himself. Yet didn't he also die miserably - a failure as a king, husband and father. Father in particular, given that none of his golden heirs were truly his own.

If she had to associate the recent generation of monarchs with those of old, she would compare Robert to Aegon the Unworthy and Viserys I. Careless monarchs, especially the former who was ruled solely by his lusts. The latter was a good one, but careless still and his demise too brought forth a civil war.

Renly was like Daeron the Young Dragon. Not a bad monarch per se, but ignorant of what truly meant to be king. And that was more than just putting on a crown, dressing and talking well and calling for war and banners.

Stannis was like Maekar, largely insignificant yet efficient. Not a man people would love though. That was what doomed him. That and preaching for a foreign god in Westeros.

Joffrey was like Maegor the Cruel. Or perhaps even Aerys the Mad. The Gods had taken him before it showed. _Well, the Gods and my dear grandmother._

Tommen was Aenys. Weak, soft and unfortunately raised poorly. Another one of the "achievements" of Cersei Lannister.

Daenerys was Aegon with teats. That is what men said of the queen, who made Cersei's reign last for merely a moon's turn. She was more than that though - she was Good Queen Alysanne and Aegon the Unlikely, who wanted to make the lives of the smallfolk better. She was Jaehaerys the Wise, who wanted to improve upon what she saw in front of her, for she knew it was false and in need of improvement. 

Most would easily mistake that last behavior as arrogance, yet what if she indeed knew better? She did, Margaery had quickly learned that, too.

_"Befriend the new queen, Margaery. Make her love us."_

Those were the words of her grandmother. She still vied for power, to plant deep roots for the new regime. Then again, such was the Queen of Thorns. The Dragon Queen had no need of consorts. And why would she? Husbands would only trouble her reign and confuse people as to where the power is.

She needed no marriage alliances, not really. She had dragons and men enough to take everything she wanted. And heirs, she had that, too.

Rhaego was a sweet boy. Five years old, knew several languages already, had his mother's silver hair and his father's copper skin. Margaery was certain that women would fight for the Eastern Heir, as they called him. The world had though the child dead in childbirth, yet it was not, merely hidden and passed off as a servant's brat in order to hide it from potential assassins. A clever plot indeed, given the fact that the Lannisters did not shy away from butchering people at weddings.

Some complained that he was the son of a savage, while others said that it wasn't even Khal Drogo's son but of another Dothraki lover. The latter was extremely improbable, given the fact that the child was five years old, meaning that he was born during the Queen's marriage to the late horselord. As for the former, well....it was still the son of the queen. An heir, young enough to be raised in Westerosi manner and unmarried. That last bit especially.

_How quickly did small minded prejudices wither away in the face of power! And who had more power than a dragon?_

Daenerys had landed on Dragonstone as expected by all aware of her coming. Cersei had allied herself with the Iron Fleet of Euron Greyjoy. He was the uncle of Yara Greyjoy, the pretender to the Iron Islands who had allied with Daenerys. 

It hadn't mattered in the end. Daenerys had decided to show all of Westeros that she had need of no allies. She had Westeros by the throat and showed it to all of Westeros, when she burnt down the so-called Iron Fleet with her dragons. Margaery had watched it happen from the deck of one of Yara's ships. It was pretty in a way, the thousand ships burning like candles, while the dragons swooped up and down in the skies like a dance. 

Unhindered, Daenerys ordered the fleets of her allies to sail towards King's Landing and took the city by storm. Its defenders were incapable of mounting a proper defense in such a short time and in the end, the city fell.

People cheered for their conqueror. And why not, when the current queen was such a horrid person? Why not, when their beloved Margaery stood by Daenerys' side? _Surely Daenerys would be a good person then?_ They must have asked themselves.

Cersei had tried to carve a bloody path through them by sending forth the monstrous Gregor Clegane, who was immediately reduced to ashes by Drogon's fiery breath. Cersei and her brother were chained and gagged and delivered to the new queen. 

Unsurprisingly, Daenerys was all too keen on giving her allies exactly what they wanted from her - revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge.

"You brought this on yourself." is what the Rose of Highgarden told the fallen queen, right before she was torn apart by Drogon, the cruel dragon all too eager to enjoy himself. Was it savage? Of course. Did anyone care? Not really.

Only one, maybe two people.

The two Lannister brothers were not quite so eager to watch their sister die as the rest of the bloodthirsty audience. Jaime struggled to help her, but was kept back by the fierce Dothraki, who cheered for their Khaleesi's victory. Tyrion said nothing, but grief was all too easy to read on his face. Perhaps his anger at his sister's abuses had faded somewhat. Perhaps he was merely sad that the last person he could blame for his faults was gone. It hadn't mattered much in the end. He was the Hand of the Queen and now finally The Lord of Casterly Rock. He had won, too. On the ashes of his family.

The Day of Reckoning they would call it. Justice for all the crimes committed by the Lannisters, they said. Funny how so many of them were cheering for the Lannisters. Even proud Lord Tarly, whom Margaery had little doubt would have sided with Cersei if he saw it as a way to obtain Highgarden. 

It didn't matter anyway. 

Daenerys was crowned queen by the new High Septon and a new age began. The Second Age of the Dragon. 

As for Margaery....well, she had to become friends with the queen. And so she had. Walks in the gardens, inspecting the troops, giving her good advice, talking about their past. It was Margaery who had advised Daenerys to end the war quickly, instead of relying on symbolic victories, as Tyrion suggested. Take King's Landing and be done with it. The victims of a potential siege of the city would have been more than the few dozen men who died in her assault. 

And the queen was grateful. She had invited her to be there beside her at the coronation, to braid their hair. Margaery was repulsed by Dothraki savagery, yet she loved their way of showing victories by braiding their hair and putting bells in it. The Queen had about a dozen bells in hers. 

They often talked in the royal bedchambers. She had been there before, but now it looked like the Dragon's den, instead of a hall of stags. _What manner of warriors so fierce would place deer on their sigils?_ is what she wondered the first time she witnessed the black stag on a yellow field. The Queen and Margaery often talked of the state of the realm, the Young Rose giving suggestions, some of which the Dragoness implemented in her own ideology, which was not too dissimilar to Margaery's own. They also talked of their pasts. Daenerys often exclaimed her jealousy at Margaery's idyllic childhood, while the Tyrell would express her admiration for the queen's survival skills and strength of character.

"I would have never survived what your Grace went through."

"You are a survivor, too. Or did you forget how you survived Cersei?" How could she? She wished she did, alas that day would haunt her forever.

Seeing her sadness, the queen said: "I am sorry for reminding you of your grief. Those who had part in it suffered the justice they deserved." And they did. Apart from Cersei, the other person involved was a former maester Qyburn, who was promptly relieved of his head. The abhorrent madman had performed unspeakable atrocities to the Red Keep's prisoners in the name of his experiments.

"I know. Thanks to you."

One night, she had taken the risk of kissing the queen's lips. It was an impulse, a desire, an attraction. Regardless of what it were, the queen returned the favor and for the fourth time and Margaery found herself inside a royal bed. Again.

When the queen pressed Margaery's face to her core, the Tyrell got to work, pumping her fingers inside the royal cunt, lapping at her juices, all the while looking up with glee at the queen, possessed by pleasure. The situation soon got mirrored, when it was Margaery who was pressing those silver curls into her core and moaned at the obviously experienced woman's skill.

Margaery Tyrell never defined herself like her brother, she took her pleasure wherever she found it, yet now she could not imagine doing so with anyone else.

"I am not your first monarch, am I?" Questioned the young queen in the morning. Both of them shared a musky embrace, naked and uncovered without a care in the world.

"No. But you are the first one I feel a desire for, as difficult as it may be to believe so, my queen."

"Daenerys." she said. "You may call me so, when in private. And I know you are honest."

"How?" Margaery was intrigued. She was such a good liar, that sometimes she could fool even herself. 

"I've learned from Lord Tyrion that the best lies are the ones said with belief in them. But there is something else. You speak quite freely with me."

"I speak quite freely with everyone."

"Yes, but I suppose this is the first time you are honest. Completely so. Your voice is sweet, yet honest and one I need to heed on occasion, to remind myself that violence is not the only way to build a better world."

"Then I suppose it is only fair to admit my desires for the queen's body." she answered. Daenerys was right. This was the first time, in probably a very long while, that Margaery Tyrell wore no mask. She didn't have to pretend to care for Renly's crown, to be as cruel as Joffrey or the mother, Tommen never had. She was bare, in every sense of the word, and by all the Gods, Daenerys had broken Margaery's invisible chains as well.

"Your Queen should warn you that she does not approve of "one-night-stands". 

"Good thing that her Lady Margaery does not care for one-night-stands and offers a more permanent arrangement."

"I would like that very much." the queen replied with a smile and kissed her lips. "I've been with a woman before, but you are the first one to inspire such...imagination from me."

Margaery chuckled. "I am glad to have inspired such imagination in my queen."

"You will inspire more."

"However will you keep me at court, I wonder?" she teased. Margaery in truth had no desire to leave and knew that her grandmother and brother would never make her do so, especially after they learn of the recent developments. 

"The Moonsinger's faith allows them to take on the social role of the gender they prefer. If I chose to live as a man, I could take you as my wife." Daenerys mused and Margaery was not entirely sure if the queen was honest or not.

"I meant for Westerosi acceptable solutions, my queen."

"Oh, then I suppose I will make you my Lady-in-waiting."

"Lovely, I just hope you won't give your bed to any other of your ladies-in-waiting."

"I need to have more than one?"

"Ah, we have much to discuss then."

"I might as well make you my seneschal as well then."

"I will share my exasperations with your lack of court etiquette with Missandei, then. She must have some experience."

Speaking of the devil, a knock was heard and Missandei was allowed entry.

"Your Grace and....Lady Margaery. How surprising it is to see you here?!" Judging by the smirk on her face, it was not much of a surprise.

"Please, I bet you knew we would end up like this long before either of us suspected so."

"I was growing tired of waiting, Khaleesi. Tyrion almost won the bet."

"You were betting on how long it would take us to sleep together?" Daenerys asked bewildered.

"Yes and I won a golden dragon. Thank you for initiating things, lady Margaery. I am sure it was so."

"You are welcome, Missandei. And please call me Margaery."

"I will. Shall I help you prepare for today's small council meeting?"

"Of course."

And so she had prepared. Both of them had dressed exquisitely, Daenerys in a fearsome looking dress of black and red, while Margaery was dressed in her golden and green colors. Margaery arrived at the small council chamber first, her grandmother being the only other person present.

"My dear, you appear to be glowing. I trust that this is the result of the reason why you never got back to your bedchambers tonight?" Her grandmother as always knew all. Were she and Lord Varys related perhaps?

"My evening was lovely, dear grandmother. The queen's company was most lovely."

"Oh, gods...." Olenna Tyrell shook her head. "There is that look I remember your father had after he met your mother. You are in love, aren't you?"

"And what if I am? You said that I were supposed to befriend the queen. I have found the desire for more than just friendship."

"Don't get me wrong, dear. I am happy for you." she sighed. "Well, I suppose you will simply be the first to revive that old fad. Though perhaps, once Willas gives me some grandchildren, you might be able to convince the queen to-"

Her grandmother's thought was fortunately interrupted by the entrance of Missandei, followed by Daenerys and the rest of the small council.

The queen sat at the head of the table and Margaery sat to her right. An amused smirk on his lips, Tyrion sat to the queen's left, followed by Missandei. Next to her sat Grey Worm, the Master of War, followed by Lord Paxter Redwyne as Master of ships; Varys as Master of whisperers; Willas as Master of Laws and the newly arrived Grand Maester Marwyn. Ser Jorah Mormont, recently healed from Greyscale by Marwyn, had taken the post of Lord Commander of the Queensguard. Lord Randyll Tarly was invited out of courtesy, but the queen had insisted to invite Queen Yara Greyjoy, her brother Theon and Ellaria Sand, so they had little choice in the matter.

"I must admit, I have had dreams of finally sitting at this table." The queen began. "Much less crowded though." some chuckled at the queen's jape, but soon resumed their seriousness. "Now. Let's talk of the state of the realm. First things first, as promised beforehand, I recognize the Ironborn's independence, so long as they respect the terms of our agreement."

"Aye, no pillaging, raping and so on."

"And what else do the ironborn know to do?" Lord Randyll questioned. 

"Gutting men." Yara sneered. "But I have given my word that my people will learn new ways of making a living and I have some ideas, which with the queen's support I will implement."

"Of course." Daenerys confirmed. "These are days of great change, my lords. The Ironborn becoming good neighbors will be just an example of the sort of thing I mean." Daenerys turned towards Ellaria. "Have you thought on my proposal, my lady?"

"Yes. In the absence of any other Martells, I will recommend my daughter, Elia Sand be fostered here as the future Princess of Dorne, when she comes of age." 

It had been a bitter pill to swallow, when Daenerys and Margaery had discussed how Ellaria, their ally, came to power in the first place. Daenerys did not approve of Ellaria staying in power any longer than necessary, but Dorne too needed stability. Unwilling to let any of the other kinslayers, who hailed from Obery Martell's loins, to inherit Sunspear, Daenerys and Margaery wanted one of his younger daughters to inherit. As such, they choose the eldest daughter of Oberyn and Ellaria herself, Elia. The girl was 15 years old and had taken no part in the kinslaying. More to the point, she was Oberyn's daughter by a noble lady and bore the name of the butchered Princess Elia Martell. 

"Then I shall sign a royal decree, naming Elia Sand as Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne and Lady of Sunspear. You, lady Ellaria, will serve as her regent until the girl comes of age." With the legal age of maturity being 16, that was not much time.

"Now, how many regions do we control?"

It was Lord Tyrion's turn to speak. "My Queen, Dorne, The Reach and the Crownlands stand firmly behind you. The Westerlands have sent a letter, accepting me as your Lord Paramount of said region and a delegation from Casterly Rock will arrive within a fortnight to bend the knee in person. As per your orders, my brother will be confined there as is to be his sentence for failing to protect Princess Elia and her children." A small price, yet small mercy was earned, when Daenerys had learnt the true reason for Aerys' murder. "The Stormlords have arrived this morning, bringing a boy named Edric Storm, who happens to be the eldest of Robert's bastards and the only one I know to have survived Joffrey's massacre of them."

"They wish for us to legitimize him?" Margaery asked and Tyrion nodded.

"Very well." The queen answered. "If the boy bends the knee and relinquishes any claim towards the throne, once held by his father the Usurper, I will name him Edric Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End. He would do so tomorrow, in front of the Iron Throne."

"I will inform the delegation after the council, my queen."

"My Queen, forgive me but will the Dothraki pose a....problem for the residents of Westeros?" asked her brother.

"You mean, whether they are going to pillage for fun?"

"Yes, well they have a reputation."

"I understand your concerns, my lord. The Dothraki indeed have such a reputation for violence, yet they will do as I command and will not cause trouble to innocent folk."

"Forgive me, your Grace, but how can you be sure?"

"Because if whoever breaks the Queen's peace will suffer the Queen's justice." Daenerys coldly stated. "That rule applies to everyone in Westeros and I mean **everyone**."

"What of the North?" her grandmother asked, for once relieving people of a tense subject rather than adding to the discussion.

The question chilled the Imp, for both he and Margaery knew it was no easy subject. 

"The North has been retaken by House Stark, led by Jon Snow and _his wife_ Lady Sansa Stark."

"Isn't she his sister?" her grandmother quipped. "Then again, your Grace has no right to judge."

"I couldn't care less of their relationship. What bothers me is the title he bears. King in the North."

"It's Robb Stark all over again, Your Grace." Lord Varys spoke in his wispy voice. "With the Freys mysteriously butchered, half the Riverlands have declared their support for the North and claim themselves part of that so-called kingdom. The Valemen do not go to such lengths, yet Lord Royce has marched all his banners to support the Northern regime, with the approval of Lord Arryn and his Lord Protector, Petyr Baelish."

"That man is a snake, my queen. You should not trust him." Margaery exclaimed and Daenerys, rather publicly, placed her palm over hers. 

"Fret not, my lady. I have heard plenty of Lord Littlefinger's plotting nature."

"My queen, this Baelish has sent us information about the northern court. He says that Jon Snow and Sansa Stark's marriage has recently produced a daughter, one Lyanna Stark. He also pledges the Vale to you." the Grand Maester informed.

"Baelish is simply playing both sides." Tyrion scoffed.

"He is a dangerous foe. It would be wrong to underestimate him." her Grandmother warned. _And of course she knew. They conspired to murder a king after all._

"In that case Lord Varys, please send to Winterfell a letter, thanking Lord Baelish for his pledge of fealty to House Targaryen and his promised support in handling the North. Make sure that such a letter arrives in the hands of the Starks themselves."

Margaery couldn't help but grin in admiration of her queen's fast learning of the game. _The Starks will kill Baelish and with a little luck will shake their Vale alliance._ "An excellent plan, my queen."

"Sent to the Riverlords promises of food and support in rebuilding their ravaged by Lannisters homeland, if they pledge for me. I want you to imply that Lord Tully's cooperation is not necessary for the Riverlands' survival. Let's see if the Tully traitors are replaceable in the minds of the Rivermen."

"They have changed several dynasties over the years, my queen. We will have support there, I know it." Willas noted. 

"Sent a letter to Lord Arryn, too. And one to Winterfell. Invite Jon Snow to sent a representative to negotiate about the future of the realm. Lord Tyrion loves to remind me of the sensibilities and sense of responsibility of House Stark. Let's see if it is truly so. I hope that my Lady Margaery will be willing to be my ambassador."

"I would be honored to represent your interests, my queen. The Starks won't come to the Red Keep though." Margaery noted. "They have had too many dreadful experiences here. Your father's deeds and Joffrey's."

"Not here then." Daenerys rose from her seat and approached the map of Westeros, hanging on the wall. "Harrenhal." she pointed with those clever fingers of hers. "That is where it will happen."

Lord Tarly scoffed. "Why waste time and not just attack them already?"

"Because, Lord Tarly, I have no desire to be queen of the ashes. If all else fails and there is war, it won't be by my own fault."


	2. Of Wolves in Red and White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV  
> Details events from her going to the Wall to reunite with her bastard brother to forming a relationship with him and taking the North back.
> 
> (First ever attempt at Jonsa so please be respectful)

Death. 

It was supposed to be the end of everything. Of life and all meaning....

How many times has she died, figuratively if not actually, ever since she left Winterfell to go south?

Let's see....there was the time when Lady was murdered. Her poor innocent direwolf, who got killed by Cersei's cruelty. To her shame, after all she went through, she had all but forgotten about the poor creature until she saw Ghost, the last of the Stark direwolves, the runt of the litter. The experience had brought on as much tears to her eyes as the reunion with Jon. She couldn't help but cry at the death of her childhood.

It had truly died, perhaps, when she finally realized just how cruel and unjust the world could truly be - her father's murder. For that is what it was, murder and not at the hands of a foe in battle, but one cruel empowered boy king.

She died again, she figured, when the news of the Red Wedding reached her. And she certainly felt something die inside her, whenever Ramsey forced himself on her.

 _Enough of death. Let me live at least a little while longer._ She thought to herself. _Just long enough to see those who butchered my family suffer for it._

"We are the last of the Starks." she had told her brother. Not half-brother. Brother. Sansa couldn't help but feel guilt for the way she had treated him as children. Jon had forgiven her, of course, being so much like father, yet she couldn't stop blaming herself for the past. All of it.

And, despite that, she had insisted that he fight for her. Fight, when he was so obviously exhausted from fighting. 'I am tired of fighting' he had said more than once. She had wanted him to fight for her, to defend her. It was a basic instinct - they had to defeat Ramsey and take back their home. They had to, for else he would not leave them in peace.

His letter, written on pink paper, had said he had their brother, Rickon. Their little brother, somehow alive and a captive of the Bastard of Bolton. 

_He is as good as dead._ She had known immediately, but insisted to fight. They had to avenge him, at the very least. Such was their duty. It was all that Jon had needed.

They had gone to the wildlings first. As it turned out, they were not as wild as others said they were. At least not all of them. Among them was a man, named Tormund Giantsbane, who had so many titles, Sansa japed that he must be some southern lord. He was Jon's friend though and agreed to help them. Alas, it was not enough.

"When Mance first united the Free Folk, he had 100,000 people behind him. Now most of these have died....to the crows, to Stannis, to the Others. That can march and fight.....there are only about 2000."

And that wasn't enough. She had overheard the Boltons say they had 5000 men to fight Stannis with. Sansa had seen how brief of a fight it were, so she doubted they had lost many. Littlefinger taught her how people would always side with the ones they believed would win. She had wanted to scoff and tell him that the Northerners were different, yet were the Boltons not Northern, too? Was there really that much of a difference between North and South, save for some customs and the gods?

Were they resisting the Bolton rule? She had not heard of such stories, save for a brief attempt of Lord Cerwyn to refuse paying taxes to the Flayman. He lost his kin for it, save for a young son, who had no fight left in him.

The rest were ignoring them at most, yet there were two Starks left and no one to help them.

Yet.

They had to show them that the Starks were still living. They had to see the Boltons were not invincible, for elsewise, how did a simple girl escape from her home, which they had turned into her dungeon? 

"We have to call upon the Lords of the North. All of them. They have fought for the Starks for thousands of years and Bolton rule is not secure. It is new and fresh and not impossible to overturn."

Jon slightly nodded in agreement, but she could see he was focused on something else. The originator of the so-called 'pink letter', sent by Ramsey. "Ramsey....Snow? What happened to his father?"

"He is dead. Ramsey killed him." She had heard once from the guards how there was a bet on which Bolton would kill the other first. And it must be so. Poisoned by our enemies, he claimed, yet Sansa hadn't done it, neither had Jon. And the Northern lords....a part of her wished that her people had done this. The people, that were truly hers, in fact, not those in name only. Maybe even Littlefinger, whose endgame she still was not fully clear on. Yet, she knew it was Ramsey. She felt it in her gut. "He is ruthless and beyond cruel. He will be even worse than his father."

Jon looked to her determined. "I have fought against worse than Ramsey Bolton or Snow or whatever name he has. We will see about all that."

"You don't know him like I do."

"We will win or we will die."

"If he takes us prisoner, we won't die for quite a while." she responded grimly. Sansa had no intention of letting herself be captured alive. For all she knew, Ramsey would not even leave her in peace as a corpse, but at least there will be no pain.

"He will not hurt you again." Jon responded after a moment of deathly silence. _Don't make promises you can't keep._ She wanted to say. 

She didn't.

They went first to Bear Island, home of the Mormonts, the most loyal. In its great hall, or what passed for one in the castle, which looked more like a small manor made of wood, Sansa met with a 13 year lady, who had a heart of iron. At first, she pitied herself for having been reduced to asking a child to go to war for her. A child, who yet knew nothing of the true horrors of the world, having perhaps heard of them, yet never actually experienced them.

"The North knows no King but the King in the North, whose name is Stark. We will support you."

After hearing that, she stopped pitying the little girl. She was obviously much braver than Sansa herself. _Like Arya_. She thought to herself, then wiped the painful memories off her head. 

62 men. That is what Davos Seaworth had told her. The former Hand of Stannis was an odd addition to Jon's circle. The wildlings, she could understand, but Davos was an odd man indeed. A good man though, so she had surmised. Smart too. Nevertheless...

"It is not enough."

"We have gathered 200 Hornwood soldiers and 143 Mazin men...."

"And it is not enough." She had said lauder than she wanted to. "I am sorry, ser. It is not your fault, but...."

"Stannis may have weakened Ramsey's numbers." Jon mused.

"Not by many. Not enough. I saw it Jon. Half the Baratheons ran for the wolfswood as soon as the Boltons charged. All the horses were with the latter, it was no battle, it was a massacre."

"We will fight with what we have, we cannot wait any longer. Think of Rickon."

She had thought of him, but to her shame, little and less. She had practically forgotten what he looked like by then. What kind of a man had he become, spending half his life on the run from their enemies. She hated thinking of Rickon though. For he was not going to survive this. Ramsey would never let him live. She would be surprised if he was still alive by the time they got to Winterfell.

Within a fortnight, they had arrived at the battlefield. Well, not quite. It was to be the battlefield. It was agreed that there would be a parley before the battle, as was custom. The weather had cleared quite a bit recently and so she knew that Ramsey won't be able to harass them in the dead of night or something like that. 

Jon had told her so and Davos had seconded. And they were the military commanders, not her. Her knowledge was about politics, which was frowned upon in the North, which focused on the blunt way of playing the great game. She could appreciate that, were it not for the madman they faced. A madman, who has twice their numbers. At least.

Seeing Ramsey made her shake and Sansa had to use every ounce of willpower she had, in order not to show it, even as flashes of the recent past blurred in front of her eyes. To steady herself, she looked around the field. Ramsey had scattered crosses with burning people on them. Flayed people, whose smell would have disgusted her, had she not grown used to death. Little Lyanna Mormont was stoic as always, but even she made a face for a moment. The rest were apathetic, focused on the moment. 

Beside Ramsey stood his allies - Harald Karstark and Smalljon Umber. The former she somewhat understood. The treacherous cadet branch of the Starks had been antagonized by Robb, when he killed Harald's father for killing prisoners against his orders. His two elder brothers were also dead. It was Umber who surprised her. According to rumors, Rickon had sought refuge at Last Hearth with his father, but upon the latter's death, Smalljon decided to join Ramsey. How could a good man raise such a traitor was beyond her. 

The parley was ridiculous in her mind. Both sides demanded the unconditional surrender of the opposite one. Naturally, both sides refused. Then, the threats were exchanged. Jon threatened Ramsey, who in turn threatened all of them. Her brother even made an attempt to challenge him to a single combat to solve it all and when he refused, tried to spark a conflict between Ramsey and his lieutenants over it. 

She had to hand it to him, Sansa never expected Jon to ever do something as subtle as that. The two lords, Karstark and Umber, looked at each other for an instant, but did nothing. They feared Ramsey too much. Still, it was nice to see that Jon was not just a soldier. It gave her a little hope that maybe they would live through tomorrow and not as hostages of the monster, who made her skin crawl. 

The two argued in the night. Sansa had no desire to do so, but she couldn't stop herself once the words started pouring out of her mouth. Jon wanted to charge in with the men they had. Sansa wanted to try to gather more men. They had argued over it ever since they had assessed just how outnumbered they were the first time. It hadn't mattered much. Jon wanted to fight him. Worse, he underestimated him.

"I have fought against worse than Ramsey Bolton." he would say. 

"You don't know him like i do." 

And on and on it went. 

Sansa had taken to sleep in Jon's tent, where she felt safer. There were no second bed, so they shared one, with him embracing her from behind. She was embarrassed at first to sleep with him like that, all the lessons of her mother flowing through her head. Yet, that was the old Sansa and that Sansa was stupid, naive and quite frankly pathetic. This Sansa was not that kind of woman. Not anymore. Never again.

Jon had promised to protect her and keep her safe from Ramsey. One way or another.

She had no desire to do so though. She wanted to win. Sansa wanted to make Ramsey pay for everything he had done to her, to their home, to everyone. That is why she finally reread the letter she had received from Baelish. The smug snake had sent her a letter a few days back, which asked for a meeting between the two. The redhead was long since done with trusting the man, yet he was promising the knights of the Vale. Could she trust him now to help her?

Every instinct Sansa had told her to ignore him, but she couldn't. If he hadn't exaggerated the number of troops, he claimed were waiting half a day's ride away…..they could win. She still doubted they could save Rickon, despite Jon's delusions and her wishes. Unless by some miracle, some long-forgotten god managed to let him slip through Ramsey and his men, he was dead.

And so she and Brienne went to meet him in the dead of night, leaving only a letter behind, explaining what happened. To see what Littlefinger had to offer. 

He offered words first. Spoke of winning the North and a crown for herself. Promised to help her in overthrowing Cersei. Professed his affection, as he called it, for her. How she looked like her mother at her age. All the things that made her skin shiver, yet she stood as still as stone. Then he spoke of his troops. Of Lord Royce, who commanded two thousand men. With her knowledge of the impending battle, which was mere hours away, Sansa agreed. 

They rode hard for Winterfell, which luckily was close enough to their position. 

The Vale army arrived just in time as Jon's forces were surrounded in what looked like a mass grave living. A vast mass of men, her brother's men, were struggling to breath while the Bolton soldiers were pressing them with their shields. 

Sansa couldn't see it clearly, but she imagined Ramsey's look of terror, when the knights of the Vale rode hard through the Bolton lines, carving them up like a knife through butter. The Stark soldiers were saved and were now chasing the fleeing Bolton men. From a distance, she spotted Ramsey riding back towards Winterfell, with Jon and a few others, among them a giant, running to catch up with him. 

Ramsey hid safely behind the castle gates, but that did not deter the pursuers. The giant slammed his fists through the gate and tore it apart, even though he did so under a rain of arrows. She saw the creature falter by the time it entered the castle grounds, eventually falling on its knees and then belly. He was dead. The last giant was dead and the Starks were inside.

As soon as she saw this, Sansa rode hard for the gate as well, not wanting to miss a thing. By the time she arrived, Jon was beating Ramsey to a pulp. As much as she wanted him dead, Sansa wanted to do it herself. She had to. And as soon as Jon saw her, he knew so as well. 

Sansa released a breath, she knew not she was holding, when the Stark banners replaced the now fallen Bolton ones. The crumbled and stepped on flayman on the ground and the Stark direwolf flying.......it brought a smile on her face. All that was ruined, when they brought in Rickon's trampled body. Jon did not fill her in on how their brother died, but she had her guesses. Ramsey. She told them to bury him in the crypts, alongside the others and then asked Jon where Ramsey was.

The kennels. A fitting place for a dog like him. 

No, this is an insult to dogs. Ramsey was less than that. 

When she saw him, Sansa barely recognized him. Jon had beaten his face in so much that several of his teeth were missing. One of his eyes was bloodshot, the other shut by his swollen head. He could still speak though, whispering nightmares and taunts, promising her that he would always be a part of her.

Perhaps it was true, but he needn't know that. 

"Your family will disappear. Your house will disappear. Your words will disappear. Your name will disappear. Even the North can forget if there is nothing left to remember." is what she told him, before releasing his own starved hounds to deal with him. A slow and painful end, nothing less than he deserved. 

She stayed through it all, listening to his screams until they stopped. She won't regret enjoying it. His death was satisfying, even if it didn't last nearly as long as that _thing_ deserved. She left him to his dogs, to be eaten and scattered in their stomachs and excrements and in truth thought of him less and less from then on.

Enough of that though. The future was ahead. Sansa did not include Littlefinger, much to his spite, in her private conversations with Jon. And they had a lot to talk about. 

"I saw the way he looked at you." Jon said, anger in his voice and eyes. Sansa knew who _he_ was. "Give me one good reason, why I shouldn't just cut off his head where he stands."

"There are a thousand reasons to do so....and only one not to. He has the Vale and we need it." Jon did not seem pleased with her answer and Sansa had to admit that his reaction to Littlefinger's ogling was endearing. Was it jealousy? A great part of her hoped it was so. "We will deal with him, Jon. The lords of the Vale are not happy with him at the helm, that much is obvious. An opportunity will arise soon, I promise." 

"The lords have sent their letters. They will come." Jon said, walking to the burning hearth of father's solar and tossing one such letter. "To help decide to future of the North, they say. I have half a mind to tell them to go to hell."

"We need them Jon. We still do, if what you told me of the threat beyond the Wall is true-"

"It IS true." he interrupted.

"We will need all the men we can get. But we need to think of the south, too. The Lannisters are not going to ignore their vassals being overthrown by us."

"We have a greater enemy."

"Yes, but that one will not forget us either. And we can't kneel for them, Jon."

"We won't.....but we need all the help we can get."

Both knew that they were at an impasse, until it happened. Jon was proclaimed King in the North by the lords. As angry as she was for being ignored by them, Sansa couldn't help but be happy for her brother finally receiving the recognition he deserved. The more she taught on it the more fitting it was. And she told him so one evening, when they lay in the lord's chambers - brother and sister.

"Some say we are like the Lannisters." he muttered, when the noisy maid finally scurried away.

"Do you want to change anything?" she asked, half afraid that he would say yes. Sansa had grown so used to his warm embrace, which enveloped her like an armor. She did not want to lose it, though she knew that Jon's honor would make him do it at one point. Certainly when the lords finally succeeded in pushing for one of their daughters to become his wife.

"No." he answered honestly. "I am right where I want to be, even if I know it won't last."

"Why say so?"

"I....the lords will need us to marry, have children to further the-"

"Fuck them."

"What?"

"Fuck the lords. Why should we care for their opinions when they left us alone in our time of peril?"

"Then what do we do?"

At that point, she was at an impasse. She could tell him she knew not and leave the problem hanging over their heads, like the sword of an executioner. Or she could ask him to do what she wanted, be selfish again and.....have him.

"What if we marry?"

"Sansa..."

"No, hear me out. We could say that it was done for political reasons, as a way to strengthen your claim. Incest is hardly unfamiliar. Which we will. Yesterday, Littlefinger said that he had convinced my cousin Robin to name me his heir. The Valemen would like that too and we could finally work on getting rid of him." 

"But....do you want to marry me? Sansa, after all you have been through, I will not have you marry against your will."

"I...I will have to marry and so will you. We...I believe we can be happy together, don't you?"

Jon was lost in thought for a while, until he smirked. "Your mother will be rolling in her grave. The bastard in the end did steal everything away."

"Let her roll. She was wrong about you. Will-"

"Yes." He said. "I will marry you. And I promise to do my best to make you happy Sansa."

Jon sealed his promise with a kiss and Sansa slept better than ever before.

When they announced their decision, there was an uproar at first, but they managed to make them buy their story. Let them think of this as political, Sansa had no desire to marry anyone but Jon. Not since she first got the idea in her head. The wedding took place within the fortnight and Sansa had not been happier. Was this too sudden? Too quick? 

She knew only that she wanted it and that was enough. Will they grow to love each other more than a brother and sister, more like father and mother? They could only hope. Jon and Sansa needed home and family and they could only find them with each other.

Considerate as always, Jon forbade the bedding ceremony and insisted that Sansa not give herself to him until she is ready. They were young and in no rush. Besides, they may all be dead soon anyways. Nonetheless, she had insisted to do it once. To see if she could do it without wanting to die.

She could, as it turned out. It was the most pleasant experience of her life. Soon after that, the maester gave them a surprise.....she was with child.

Seven moons after the wedding, they had received news from the south. Tommen was dead. The Great Sept of Baelor gone and Cersei queen. She wanted to vomit at such dreadfulness, but took heart in hearing that Margaery had escaped. No doubt the Tyrells would now fight against the Lannisters and Sansa knew just how vital that alliance had been to Lord Tywin.

"Cersei gambled and lost. Margaery was well loved. With the Tyrells alive, the whole Reach will turn on her and with no one to help her.....she is dead."

And dead she became. However, she was not torn to death by the thorns of the roses, but burnt by dragonfire. All had heard whispers of her and the dragons. Jon even mentioned an old and dead maester at the Wall, who was her uncle. 

Daenerys Targaryen was back in Westeros and had reclaimed the Iron throne with the help of Dorne, the Ironborn and the Tyrells. Littlefinger, despite his attempts to do so, failed to cover up his anger at his longtime rival, Lord Varys' success at installing his own monarch on the Iron Throne. She had come with three dragons, vast armies and a great claim - all of Westeros. As much as she was relieved that it was all over for the lions, this was a problem.

"I don't know what surprises me more - that dragons and White walkers roam Westeros or that you two are married. And have this." Arya's return was as happy a surprise as any. It also coincided with the birth of her daughter. Lyanna, they named her. Sansa couldn't name her after her mother and with Arya back, Jon felt the need to give her a different name - the name of his dead aunt. Lyanna Stark. "What are we going to do about the letter though?"

Another letter had graced their rookery. This one contained a request for a parley at Harrenhall to decide the future of the realm. None of the monarchs were to attend, only their representatives, a move which surprised her. Who was she going to negotiate with? Anyways, the Targaryen had helped her with Littlefinger. Apparently, her not-friend had sent information to the Red Keep on the goings on in Winterfell, in exchange for power in the South. A desparate move, she had not expected from him. A move which cost him dearly, given that the dragon queen was surrounded by so many people, who did not trust him. She had sent a letter back, implicating him in treason against us. A letter, which conveniently found its way into her hands. Something she doubted was a coincidence. 

Not that she did not make use of the situation to turn all the Vale against him and have Arya cut his throat. Nonetheless, they had to meet the south once more. Her uncle had promised her the Riverlands, but his lords had sided with the Targaryen, who promised the food of the Reach in exchange for fealty. A promise that the North could not hope to match. That is why Edmure Tully was here, and almost all of the Riverlands flew the Targaryen banner, led by Jonos Bracken. The West had bent for Tyrion, in order to protect itself from further reprisals from the only person, who probably hated the Lannisters as much as the Starks did. And only the gods knew what her idiot of a cousin Robin would do. 

The North could not ignore the South any longer, certainly not when they needed its help to fight the White Walkers. Jon and Sansa knew this and decided to act.

"Write a letter south. To the Red Keep" Sansa addressed maester Wolkan. "I will go meet with the dragon queen's representative and talk about peace on behalf of the North. And of the greater threat to us all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, the Jonsa is not as explicit as the Daengery. The reason is simple - this is the only way I believe I can properly portray the relationship. Dany and Margaery are more expressive women - they know what they want and take it. Jon and Sansa are two lost souls, who seek comfort and home and family. In my mind, getting together can only be the result of those feelings in canon, because otherwise there is little base for it. The two barely talked to one another before and whenever that happened, it was Catelyn's spite through Sansa's mouth. Certainly not a good way to start a relationship, especially the kind frowned upon by almost everyone.
> 
> Next chapter is the end - the negotiations at Harrenhal and it will be a double POV - Margaery and Sansa, both of whom will be thinking of their lovers and acting in their interest.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I deal with these ships, so please comment. At first, I thought I could sum this up in one chapter, but then I realized I could never possibly give these characters the justice they deserved, so here is three.


End file.
